


A Little Heart to Heart

by 26foxbuck221



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:11:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5011210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26foxbuck221/pseuds/26foxbuck221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya picks up a mysterious shadow</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A Little Heart to Heart As always I do not own anything pertaining to the Man From U.N.C.L. E franchise. No money is being made by me from this. Note at the end. Comments welcome, as always.f

                                               mfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfu

          The blond haired Russian knew that he had picked up a tail within two blocks of his apartment building. Now all he had to do was ascertain to what not so secret organization the this person belonged to. He knew he was being watched by the CIA, FBI, KGB. But then there was T.H.R.U.S.H but it made little difference. Who ever this was very inept, but then, what if he wanted Illya to know? The person was trying hard enough to be inconspicuous, or was it? But, in what ever case, evasive action was called for. Although The U.N.C.L.E agent was getting more then a little peeved at being harassed by all sides. He slipped on his sunglasses then made his way to the nearest phone booth. On entering, he casually leaning against it's side keeping his supposed tail in sight out of the corner of his eye. As he expected the tail turned and backtracked to seemingly do some window shopping. Illya pretended to drop some coin into the phone as he activated his communicator.

            “Open Channel D. Mr. Waverly, please.”

             “Right away, Mr. Kuryakin.”

              In second's the familiar voice of the head of Section one rasped in his ear.

              “You are in danger of running a bit late, Mr. Kuryakin.”

                “Yes, sir. That is why I called. It seems I will be missing this morning's briefing. I have picked up an extra shadow and wish to rid myself of it before advancing any further.”

                The Russian could almost feel the Old Man come to attention. No doubt the other person in the room did as well.

                 “Do you have any clue as to whom this person might be?”

                 “No sir. Not enough data at this time. Only that it is female and either she is woefully inept at the task of trailing someone or she is wants me to be aware of her presence.”

                 “Could she be providing a distraction, Illya?”

                  “Unknown at this point, Napoleon. But I will be keeping a wary eye out for more such shadows in the very near future.”

                  In fact the blond agent was now scanning the sidewalks and streets around him as well as casting sharp glances toward rooftops even as he spoke.

                  Mr. Waverly returned to the line “What is your present location, Mr. Kuryakin?”

                   “I am in the phone booth at 5th and W. 30th St., Sir. But I intend to to make a change of venue as soon as I end this call. There is a restaurant just north and east of my current location.”

                    Waverly cast a glance at his CEA and Solo acknowledged with a nod as he stood. He knew exactly the place Illya spoke of.

                    Kuryakin continued. “Perhaps they serve an early breakfast and there I can have a little heart to heart. I will leave this channel open, of course.”

                   “Very good, Mr. Kuryakin. Back up is being dispatched even as we speak.”

                    “I will eagerly await their arrival with baited breath. I am on the move now.” Illya slipped the communicator out of sight then hung up the receiver and headed for the restaurant.

                    Once out of Waverly's office, Napoleon patched through to Mark Slate's office.

                     “Mark, I need you and April on the double. Illya's picked up some uninvited company and we are going to make sure whom ever it is conducts themselves in a very civilized manner.”

                       “Right you are, mate. When is now, but where?” He and April armed themselves, April heading for the door.

                       “Parking garage, the car will be running.”

                       “On our way.”

                        A sign on the door said that the eatery was now opened, so Illya swung the door towards him, then paused just a moment using it as a mirror. A quick glance told him that the woman was also crossing the street towards him so he moved inside. Choosing a table in a corner he quickly drew his Walther. Keeping his hands under the table, he clipped the sleeping darts and attached the silencer.

                        “Would you like a menu, sir?”

                         “Not at this time, thank you. But I will have two cups of tea with raspberry jam, on the side, please.”

                         The waiter gave a slight bow and moved away.

                          Napoleon slid the car into a side alley just up from where Illya sat.

                          “I want one of you on a roof top overlooking the restaurant, the other in the alley behind it covering the back entrance. I'll take the frontal approach. Be careful. We don't know who this is or how many others may be lurking. Out you go.”

                           The three agents split up, Napoleon heading for the front door. What he saw when he entered brought him to a stand still. His partner was standing facing a woman with long dark blond hair, dressed in a black leather trench coat with a wide brimmed hat now in hand. It was the look on Illya's face that perplexed him. A myriad of emotions seemed to be chasing themselves across the Russian's face. His blue eyes riveted on her face. Slowly Napoleon took a seat and mirrored Illya's earlier actions in arming himself.

                           Illya glanced up as the woman entered. She paused only a short moment to remove her hat before walking slowly towards his table. His body stiffened as he watched then he slowly stood, carefully placing the gun on the chair out of sight.

                           “Anastasia Antonovna Dvoretsky*”

                           This brought a smile to her lips. “You always were a wonder at remembering faces and names as well, Illya Nickovich Kuryakin”

                            He didn't register Solo's entrance. So many memories flashed through his mind at the sight of this woman from a time of his life he tried to give so little thought to. The spell broke when the waiter approached with a tray with a tea service balanced upon it. He actually blushed.

                             “Please, forgive me. I am being remiss. Sit. As you see there is tea. Would you like to order something more substantial?

                             They sat down together is if in one fluid motion. Anastasia glanced at the tea service as she carefully clasped her hands together and rested her   chin upon them.

                             “And in the Russian style as well. But no, I need nothing more. I have already breakfasted.”

                            She moved to pour them both a cup stirring a bit of the jam into the steaming liquid before taking a sip. Illya did the same.

                            “I did not know you were in America, Ana. Are you still.....” He took sharp breath and stopped himself cold. “No. That...... was unforgivably clumsy of me."

                             She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping softly, almost a whisper.

                              “I am as you last saw me.”

                              He studied her features for a moment then nodded.

                              She straitened back up. “What of yourself, Illya. How do you spend your time?”

                              “I am in imports and exports, a novelty company. Here in the City.”

                              “Do you ever miss it, Illya? The GRU? KGB?

                              “Nyet, not at all.”

                              “There are some who would welcome you back with open arms, you do know that.”

                               “Da. I also know that there are others who would gladly see me shot as a traitor to Mother Russia.”

                               He allowed the heat bleed into his voice. But as quickly as the anger had come, he released it.

                               “No, Ana. My loyalty now lies in this country. With my company and my colleagues, no matter how I feel about the land of my birth. But I would never betray her either.”

                                She nodded seeing the truth in his eyes. At first sight they had been warm as a clear sunny day. Now they were icy and hard.

                               “Then I will not bring it up again. I never intended to.”

                               He started to protest but she shook her head as she held up a hand to silence him.

                                “I should have let the topic drop as you did. The only reason why I am here is because I saw you and it was like a breath of fresh air. A familiar face but one so totally unattached to my work. I just wanted to talk, about inconsequential things.”

                                “I think I can understand that.”

                               “I think you do. You were always a good listener and someone who could be trusted. A rare commodity in these time.” She shook head with a light laugh. “I really must stop. Tell me, Illya, do you get to sing often?”

                                “Ana, your voice is far superior to mine. But yes, once in awhile. I learned to play the guitar.”

                                 Her laugh was pleasing and genuine. “Not the balalaika? You are a man of many facets. But you were always that. Never change.”

                                “I do my best.”

                                 She stood. “Would that we could do this often, but I think we both know it would not be wise.”

                                 He stood, with his half smile in place. “I am glad to see you well.”

                                 “Take care, Illya. Our paths crossed, perhaps, not by chance. May we be so graced again.”

                                 She spun gracefully on her heels to weave through the tables and slipped out the door.

                                 “Mr. Kuryakin.”

                                  “Yes, sir.”

                                  “I will expect you in my office, along with Mr. Solo, Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer as soon as you can make that possible. Waverly out.”

                                   Kuryakin capped the communicator then sat to disassemble the Walther and holster it. He glanced up as Napoleon sat across from him. The dark haired man seemed on the verge of speaking then changed his mind.

                                   “Out the back, tovarish. April is there. I'll keep Mark on the roof until I enter the alley.”

                                    Illya nodded and stood. “Ask no questions, my friend. Waverly wants to see us all. I will only tell this once.” With that Illya turned and was gone.

                                  Mfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfu

                     *Anastasia Antonova Dvoretsky. A school mate of mine who died far to young and far to tragically. I cannot for the life of me remember her father's first name. But I had a Russian uncle by marriage so I borrowed his first name for Ana's middle name.

                      I was ready to scrape this story until she kind of took it over. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Comments welcome.

                       R.I.P Moy drug. Vy ochen' ne khvatat'

                        (R.I.P My friend. You are greatly missed.)


	2. A Little Heart to Heart Chapter ll

## A Little Heart to Heart

###  [26foxbuck221](http://archiveofourown.org/users/26foxbuck221/pseuds/26foxbuck221)

### Work Text:

A Little Hear to Heart

Chapter ll

 

            I have been asked to expand this little tale so here is the attempt. I want to thank everyone who is reading this. Especially those who have left comments and likes. They are so very much appreciated.

 

        As always I am making no money on this endeavor. I own nothing pertaining to the Man From U.N.C.L.E franchise, neither the TV series nor the Movie. Za zda-ro-vye!(Cheers)

 

                           Mfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfu

 

           Illya gave a firm rap on the exit door before stepping out onto the receiving dock. With Miss Dancer on high alert, the last thing he wanted to do was startle her in any way. She cast a quick glance his way as he stepped through the door, then her attention returned to covering the alley.

 

           “Is everything alright, darling?”

 

            “Yes, it seems it was a bit of a false alarm.”

 

            “Well better safe then sorry, as they say.”

 

            Illya made no answer to that. He was wishing now that the meeting had been more private. That he had not left the channel open. But Ana had always had a streak of the flamboyant. She loved cloak and dagger. And now.....what? Now there were people with questions that they would insist he answered and at the moment he was not in the mood for any of it. She had let loose a flood gate of memories that needed to be dealt with, put back in their dark little cubby-holes, locked away and forgotten once again.

 

            But for all that, he had been glad to see her. To know that she was alright and doing well. Alive and well. That was all that mattered. The rest he would just have to deal with the best he could. But he needed time for that, and he was not going to be given any breathing space. Not with Waverly wanting to debrief them within the next few minutes. But he would get through it, he always did.

 

            Once Napoleon retrieved the car and was approaching the the alley, he hailed Mark to let him know that he could now join April and Illya at the back of the restaurant. Within seconds he cruised into the alley beside the three other agents.

 

            Solo was a bit surprised when the Russian stared Mark down for a spot in the back seat forcing the Brit to ride Solo's shotgun. Once settled in, Illya simply laid his head against the back of the seat, crossed his arms over his chest, turned his head towards the window and closed his eyes.

 

           “Cor, mate. You could have but asked.” Mark muttered under his breath as he shut his door, unable to fully suppress a shudder.

 

            Napoleon cast a quick glance in the rear view mirror. Illya shutting out and shutting down was never a good thing. Who ever this woman was, it looked like she was bad news. But then he flashed back. He remembered the image of Illya's face. So open, unguarded and all through their meeting, it had never closed.

 

           Once they hit the parking garage the four piled out of the car Illya just walking away. Solo joined Dancer and Slate as they hesitated.

 

           “I want you two to herd him towards Medical.”

 

           Mark's face when bland.

 

          “Oh, but darling. You.....”

 

          “I'm serious here, April. That person he met with poured him a cup of tea and he drank it. I'm going to inform Mr. Waverly of the situation then I'll come and take over. I promise.”

 

          Slate huffed. “You bloody well better. Poisoned or not, he is going to be more then a hand full.”

 

           Mark trotted off with April hot on his heels.

 

           “Yeah, unless he collapses on you.” Solo muttered as he pulled out his communicator. “Open Channel D.”

 

            “Channel D open. Report, Mr. Solo.”

 

            “We're in the parking garage now, sir. I would like Mr. Kuryakin to check in at Medical. He and this woman shared a pot of tea. She poured......he drank it.”

 

            There was a silence lasting a few moments before Waverly spoke again.

 

             “I think not.”

 

            The words hit Napoleon like a physical blow. “But sir...”

 

            “You do trust Mr. Kuryakin's judgment in these matters?”

 

            “Usually yes, but.....” It was true. Illya seemed to have a sixth sense about these types of things but this jangled against his nerves setting him on edge.

 

            “No, Mr. Solo. If Mr. Kuryakin was willing to share refreshment then I think it would be best not question at this time. Waverly out.”

 

             Napoleon could only stare at the slender silver rod for a moment before slowly capping it and slipping it away. Taking a deep breath he squared his shoulders as he mentally shook himself. All he could do now was pray that Illya and Mr. Waverly knew what the hell they were doing. The alternative didn't bare thinking about.

 

             He found his three compatriots standing in a small knot with April looking both worried and concerned, Mark eying the blond agent with a wary apprehension. On the other hand, Illya's body language seemed to have relaxed some though he looked obstinate but far from sickly.

 

             They all turned on Solo's approach. “All right, let's not keep “The Old Man” waiting. Shall we?”

             He swept an arm towards the elevator that would take them up to Section One's main office as he breezed on by. Illya fell into step with his partner. April and Mark cast an alarmed look at Solo's back, then heaved a collective sigh and fell in behind. They paused outside Mr. Waverly's office door just long enough for Lisa to let them know that were expect and to go right through. Each agent thanked her as they filed by.

 

             Alexander Waverly was sitting perched on the edge of the round table but stood as his agents entered. “Ah, gentlemen, Miss Dancer, please be seated. Any complications?”

 

             Kuryakin spoke first. “None, sir.”

 

           None of the other agents could rightfully contradict this assessment so they remained silent.

 

            “Very well. I want each of you to make your report separately, starting with you, Mr. Solo. Mr. Kuryakin, I believe it would be best if we hear from you last.”

 

            Illya gave a dip of his head. “Yes, sir.”

 

           “Once we arrived close to Mr. Kuryakin's location, I delegated Mr. Slate to a roof top overlooking the restaurant and surroundings. I sent Miss Dancer to the back of the restaurant to cover the alley, loading bay and back door. I went in through the front. Mr. Kuryakin was standing facing a woman who had her back to me. She was 5'10', dark blond hair worn long. She was dressed in a beige belted coat, a camel calf length skirt, tall black leather boots and held a large wide brimmed hat. I could clearly see his face. It was open, unguarded, vulnerable. Also, they never touched. None of the hugs or kissing on both cheeks most Europeans use as a customary greeting. I was able to get a table where I could observe both of them. Mr. Kuryakin had his Walther drawn and laying in his lap. She very deliberately placed her own arms on the table, clasped her hands together under her chin. Except to pour their tea and to handle the tea cup, they never moved. But their conversation was animated enough. They shared smiles, laughs, and a few blushes by Mr. Kuryakin. But the meeting did seem to unsettle him. She left in less then thirty minutes. But when I approached him, he said that I was not to ask any questions. He refused to sit in the front seat. Once he was in the back he shut his eyes and turned his head away shutting the rest of us out. I think that pretty much covers it.”

 

          Waverly glanced at the blond agent who gave a slight nod of his head, eyes calm.

 

         “Mr. Slate?”

 

         “Nothing suspicious on my end, sir I saw the woman Mr. Solo just subscribe leave, she walked to Lexington, grabbed a cab. No one met with her or seemed to be following her or to have been even watching.”

 

          “I see. Miss Dancer, your report, please.”

 

          “I have nothing to report, sir. No one entered the alley or loitered near the entrance.”

 

           Waverly paused to toy with the ever present pipe, before he slowly charged and lit it. “As you are unaware, Mr. Slate, Miss Dancer, Mr. Kuryakin left his channel open so that I would be privy to what transpired during this meeting in case it was enemy action. Apparently it was not, but there are points that need to be clarified. Especially, since it was made clear in their conversation, that she is a citizen of the Soviet Union and she knew, in some detail, Mr. Kuryakin's relationship with the GRU and KGB.”

 

           He turned his full attention to the Russian agent. “Are you willing to answer my questions, Mr. Kuryakin?”

 

            Illya's eyes met his own still placid but his chin came up.”I will make answer to all your concerns, sir.”

 

             The older man nodded. “Right, then. When and where did you meet...”

 

             “Miss, sir.”

 

            “Very good, thank you Mr. Kuryakin.”

 

            “I met Anastasia Antonovna Dvoretsky at a time and place when outward shows of affection, even mere friendship, were tantamount to betrayal. Subject to manipulation, blackmail at the very least. We do not greet each other as it is part of the pact we made. Never to touch or be touched. Two old men playing chess in the park, two students sharing a table in the library but not speaking. The same in a cafeteria. Sitting under a thick shrub, seemingly alone, reading Chekhov or Tolstoy aloud. That was all that was needed. Just to know that there was someone near who cared and was cared about.”

 

             He felt no need to continue even when the silence began to lengthen.

 

            “When was the last time you saw Miss Dvoretsky?”

 

             “At the University of Georgia. She studied mechanical engineering and Astro-physics.”

 

            “Mr. Kuryakin, you stated that you did not know that she was in the U.S. Does she usually communicate with you when she is outside of the Soviet Union?”

 

           “Only in token. A postcard with only her initials, a souvenir trinket of some sort. Not always, and never a return address or message of any sort.”

 

            “You also started to ask her something but stopped, quite abruptly, I might add. Why?”

 

             “Because,sir. Our countryries are engaged in not only a Cold War, but also what is called the space race. Of late there have been nothing but token signs of cooperation between your NASA and the Soviet Vostok. There are those in the scientific communities in both America and the Soviet Union that believe that such endeavors should transcend political boundaries and difficulties and that the cooperation become joint missions. I was not sure if she was still a part of this, but she confirmed that she was.”

 

              “I am as you last saw me.”

 

             “Exactly, sir.”

 

              “So it appears she is a scientist with the Soviet space programme.”

 

              “Yes. That is also how she knows of my work in the GRU and KGB. Being who and what she is, she would be given escort, a body guard. An agent to not only protect but to make sure she did not defect. For awhile, I was her shadow.”

 

              The Old Man's eyes fairly twinkled. “So, no doubt she would among those that would welcome you back with open arms, so to speak.”

 

              One of those rare smiles played on the Russian's lips. “No doubt, no, sir.”

 

              “Somewhere in this city is a KGB agent sincerely wishing he had drawn a different assignment that shadowing your Miss Anastasia Antonovna Dvoretsky. Since it seems she has given him the bum's rush.”

 

               “Being someone's bodyguard does have its tense moments, Napoleon, as we all have experience of. Especially when your charge is as skilled as Ana at disguises and she takes it into her head to take an unchaperoned tour. No, I do not envy his position at all.”

 

               Mr. Waverly made a sudden shooing motion. “I think that is enough for today. You all have work to do, I am sure. I know I have.”

 

              The four agents stood and headed for the door. Just as Illya started to leave, he paused then turned back.

 

               “Is something wrong, Mr. Kuryakin.....something you need to add to our little discussion?”

 

               “Sir, I said that she would often send me trinkets that had no message at all. I think perhaps this time it is different. She left this.”

 

                Illya held out his hand and Mr. Waverly held his out palm up and a small cluster of charms landed softly into his hand. Two charms depicting spaceships.  Another two were outlines of two countries,  one of the U.S and another the Soviet Union, and in the center was a rather large peace sign.

               "Yes, yes indeed.”


End file.
